What if i think i love you?
by Twistedloveaffair69
Summary: He knows you better than anyone else. That's why you don't know how he hasn't realized that you love him. You mean, why he hasn't figured out that you think you love him. Of course you love him. What else could it be?


**What If I Think I Love You?**

 **Summary:** **He knows you better than anyone else. That's why you don't know how he hasn't realized that you love him. You mean, why he hasn't figured out that you** ** _think_** **you love him. Of course you love him.** ** _What else could it be?_**

* * *

You've never been in love before.

Sure, you've had crushes on celebrities or on the cute boys back in Phoenix but this is different.

 _He's_ different.

He makes your hands sweat.

He makes your heart ache.

He makes your mouth dry.

He makes your knees weak.

He makes you feel like you're sick and maybe love is a kind of sickness.

Sometimes you wish he'd notice you.

But he does notice you. He talks to you and he smiles at you. He says he likes you best and he thinks you are ( _sort of_ ) beautiful.

And that's nice…

But you wish he'd notice you the way you noticed him

He's attracts attention wherever he goes, smiles and waves. He's like the sun and everyone in he comes in contact with gets pulled into his gravitational pull.

He thinks you're just clumsy, that's why you're always tripping and bumping into stuff. But that's not the reason…okay, it's not the _only_ reason.

When he's around it's like fireworks, bright explosions of color and sound. You're not only blinded by him, you're deafened by him, oblivious to your surroundings.

Maybe that's why you love him.

Or why you _think_ you love him.

Of course you love him.

 _What else could it be?_

When you were children, he was the only one who understood you.

From the moment you met something between the two of you just sort of…clicked.

You were quiet, only speaking when spoken to, always trying to fade into the background but he was loud, always the center of attention, and he pulled you out from the shadows, coloring you with his light.

He made up for your silence, holding one-sided conversations, until you finally found your voice.

You were cold, always cold, and you hated being cold. He was warm, always warm, and when he touched you, he spread his warmth to you.

He brought you into his circle, showing you how to make the perfect mud pie, introducing you to his favorite shows, showing you cars in magazines, sharing everything he had with you, and he treating you were _important_.

Protecting you from bullies.

Protecting you from yourself.

Whenever you started attacking yourself, which is more often than you'd like to admit, he'd give you a look, as if he could read your mind.

He knows you better than anyone else. That's why you don't know how he hasn't realized that you love him.

You mean, why he hasn't figured out that you _think_ you love him.

Of course you love him.

 _What else could it be?_

And when you got older and puberty came, he got taller, his shoulders got broader, his voice got deeper, his jeans got tighter and shirts started stretching across his chest.

You changed too but it was different.

He started to actually work with real cars, instead of just looking at them in pictures. You fell in love with books, preferring your fairytales to real life.

But he never let you completely pull away from the real world.

He'd show up, with a smile and an idea, then you'd wind up spending your afternoon watching movies, just joking around, and it was perfect.

Your taste was different than his. You didn't like the same books, you didn't like the same movies, you didn't like the same music…but those were just surface things.

He never made you feel like you were different.

Even when you quoted every line from Shakespeare, he just put his hands behind his back and laid back on your bed, smiling at you.

Even when you started, almost obsessively, collecting book, he just helped build shelves for your room and asked you which one was your favorite.

And when you hesitantly handed over your copy of Pride and Prejudice, he took it from you and sat on the corner of your bed reading it. He took his time, turning each page carefully, never dog-earing them, or wrinkling them. He treated the book like it was precious…because it was precious to **_you_**.

You remember looking at him and finally understanding the meaning of the word behold.

That's the moment you fell in love with him.

Or the moment you _think_ you fell in love him.

Of course you love him.

 _What else could it be?_

When he hangs out with his other friends without you, which isn't often because he **always** invites you along. You sit there and read; replacing the Hero's name with his and the Heroine's name with your own.

You buy any romance novel you can find with his name. You're collecting them, romance and adventure and even love. You're not sure why, exactly, because none of the men in your stories can compare to the real thing.

You tried to write your own novel, describing the way he walks, the way he talks, the way he makes you feel…

You try to write a way for him to love you.

 ** _He turns to you one day, smiles and takes your hand. And then he tells you-_**

 ** _No. You're reading together, in your room, the two of you on your bed. When he gently pucks your book from your hands and tells you to look at him. You look up at his face, so close to yours, and-_**

 ** _No. He climbs through your window one night and before you can say a word, he pulls you towards him and-_**

 ** _No. He catches up with you in the middle of the hall at school and-_**

 ** _No. You confess your feelings on the beach with the waves crashing behind you and he-_**

 ** _No. He says-_**

 ** _No._**

You crumbled the paper in shame because no words seemed to fit.

You don't think he's perfect.

You know for a fact that he's not.

He snores, loud enough to wake the dead.

He cusses, a lot, when he thinks no one is paying attention.

He can't sing, couldn't hold a tune in a bucket, but he hums all the time.

He has a short temper which most people don't notice because he seems so peaceful and happy all the time.

He's really competitive. He's a sore loser.

He has no regards for personal space. He's always touching you, hugging you, tickling you until you can't breathe, holding your hand, ruffling your hair, etc.

He's immature.

He loves to argue.

But you couldn't picture him any other way.

You like that he snores, because, whenever he sleeps over, you can hear him and you know he's there.

You like when he cusses because he always turns red when he realizes that you heard him.

You like that he can't sing, because listening to him hum has because it means he's happy and when he's happy, he smiles.

You really, really love his smile.

You like that he has a short temper because you're one of the only people who's seen it and you like knowing that there's a part of him that only you know about.

You like that he's competitive because you love seeing him get all fired up. You like that he's a sore loser because you're the only person who can pull him out of his funk with just a few gentle pants on the back and some kind words.

You like that he has no regards for personal space because he's always touching you, hugging you, tickling you until you can't breathe, holding your hand, ruffling your hair, etc. And whenever he touches your heart starts beating so hard that it _hurts_ …in a good way.

You like that he's immature because when you're with him, he makes you feel like a little kid.

You like that he loves to argue because, oddly enough, you like arguing to.

Of course you love his flaws, you're in love with him.

 _Maybe._

You _think_ you love him.

Of course you love him.

 _What else could it be?_

He smiles at you and loops his arm around your shoulders and your knees shake.

You wonder how he can be so casual with you.

You're **you** and he's _him_.

You're a _girl_ , he's a **boy**.

It should mean **_Something!_**

But it doesn't mean anything.

You're both 17, almost adults.

Shouldn't something change?

You ask him why he doesn't have a girlfriend, yet.

You don't want to see him with anybody else…but you're curious.

Why hasn't he fallen in love yet?

He says he'll find a girlfriend when you find a boyfriend.

You spend the rest of the day in a daze, smiling.

You know he didn't mean it the way you took it…but maybe he'll be your first boyfriend and you'll be his first girlfriend.

Maybe he's waiting for you?

Maybe he's already fallen in love and he's waiting for you to catch up?

Whenever he sleeps over, he sleeps in the same bed as you, the two of you curled up together in a tangle of arms and legs.

On nights that he doesn't, you think about how his arm felts drape over your waist and how when you woke, his lips were press against your neck.

The way his scent, peppermint, oil, and skin, lingered on your sheets. You could smell him in your bed every time you went to sleep.

It made you miss him, even though you knew you would see him again in a few short hours.

Sometimes if you lay down a pillow, it almost feels the same. But he was warm and your pillow is cold.

On nights he doesn't sleep over, you throw your pillow in the dryer, hoping to recreate his warmth.

 **It's not the same.**

Charlie isn't worried.

He doesn't even blink when he comes to wake you up in the morning and finds the two of you tangled together in bed.

And a part of you is offended.

He's a _Boy…._

You're a **Girl…**

You're **_both_** hormonal teenagers…

Is your dad that sure that his best friend's son doesn't find you attractive enough to make a move?

They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, so you always make his favorite when he stays over.

An incentive to keep coming back.

You glance at the one you, _maybe_ , **sort of** , definitely, **_undeniably_** Love from across the breakfast table.

He meets your gaze with a smile and subtle wink before turning his attention back to his breakfast.

You wish you didn't love him so much.

Maybe you _don't_ love him.

It doesn't feel right to say you love him.

Because what if you don't?

What if once you tell him, the feelings go away?

Maybe you _don't_ love him.

But if you don't love him, then why does your heart hurt when he's not with you?

And if you don't love him, then why will you do anything to see him smile?

Of course you love him.

 _What else could it be?_

Maybe that's why you'll never tell him.

Not because you're worried that he won't love you.

You know he probably won't.

You're worried because if you aren't sure that the love sickness won't fade away.

What if the cure for your feelings is to say them out loud?

What will you do then?

You love loving him.

He gives you a reason to get out of bed in the morning and something to think about before you sleep at night.

He gives you warmth and excitement. He gives you peace and happiness.

He gives you everything except for what you want more than anything.

And you're not ready to give him all of you…not yet.

Because you love him

You know you love him.

Of course you love him

 _He just doesn't love you back._

* * *

 **Author's note: Okay, now I know that there is no possible universe where Jacob doesn't love Bella.**


End file.
